


God of Love

by zombie_socks



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mythology - Freeform, Trickster!Loki, Winged Clint Barton, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With steady hands the Overwatcher picked his way through her tattered soul, gathering shards of Love and piling them in a corner. He frowned at how few there were left. It was achingly sad to see the Goddess of Love so consumed by hatred. The Overwatcher combined the shards with the retired shell of a human soul and worked the resulting clay into a vessel worthy of his daughter goddess. He gave the new soul Sight, sharp, keen eyes that would see the connecting Strings the Goddess of Love was no longer able to.<br/>The result was young, innocent, warm. He laid the new creature next to the goddess and waited for her to wake. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or the complete bastardization of mythology that results when my brain decides it wants to write something ancient, epic, and tragic... and writes this instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God of Love

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired in part by the Avengers as Tarot Cards fan art which I believe is credited to Julia Cross - http://moviepilot.com/posts/2371392 - and the amazing album God of Love by Stereo Alchemy - http://www.stereoalchemy.com/music.html - as well as loose interpretations from various mythologies and fanfics I've read in the past. 
> 
> Other than that, I really don't know what this is or where it came from. But I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Un-betaed so all mistakes are my own.  
> (Also, small dubious consent as two characters are not fully in their right minds and engage in a relationship, but nothing graphic is mentioned. Just tread carefully if you need to.)

**God of Love**

The Overwatcher frowned as he saw the despair ripple off the goddess’s aura once more. She’d pleaded again tonight for him to give her back her Sight or otherwise end her, to take away her immortality and end her suffering. But gods’ lives were not so simple. It was not a task that could be done.

However he was sympathetic to her cause. She was in anguish and her pain was affecting the human earth. He’d been piecing together a plan, weaving it into space and time.

She let out silent tears. She would never let a soul see her suffer, but it was impossible to hide from the all-seeing Overwatcher. He let out a breath and put her to sleep.

He went to work.

Her soul was in shambles. Shattered pieces were strewn haphazardly, bits of feeling, of Ichor, of humanity. She was a terribly beautiful thing, this goddess. But she was jagged edges and un-wholeness.

With steady hands the Overwatcher picked his way through her tattered soul, gathering shards and piling them in a corner. He frowned at how few there were left. It was achingly sad to see the Goddess of Love so consumed by hatred.

He selected the shards one by one and pieced them together, fashioning them with care and gentleness. From his reserves he pulled a vile and examined the bright light inside. It wasn’t often he hand-picked a human soul to transcend the natural order. But the goddess had not had enough shards left in her to make what he needed, so he selected a husk, a basis, a shell for the resulting form to fill. And a worthy shell it was.

Heroic, of course, but there were many heroes left from the Great War that had ravaged the human world and left his daughter goddess in pain. No, there was more to it than that. This was not the Golden Hero Hercules who had finished his allotted time with the God of War and was now back in Hades’ land. Nor was this Jason or Perseus or Odysseus. No, this was a brave human with knowledge of humanity, with consideration for human life, and most importantly a good heart.

The Overwatcher combined the shards with the retired shell of a human soul and worked the resulting clay into a vessel worthy of his daughter goddess. He gave the new soul Sight, sharp, keen eyes that would see the connecting Strings the Goddess of Love was no longer able to.

The result was young, innocent, warm. He laid the new creature next to the goddess and waited for her to wake.

 

Natasha felt odd. Her eyes peeled open and she could sense the oddity growing. She glanced down from the perch on which she’d fallen asleep and frowned at the glimpse of the human world below. A drop of dread filled her gut as she saw no Strings. It spread when she discovered that no matter how hard she looked, none were to be found. She could see people, milling about, engaging as they normally would. But no Strings.

She felt her eyes water. She’d lost it.

Even after the war, after what she’d been forced to do, she’d been able to see a String here or there. They were pale, undernourished. But now they were gone.

She opened her mouth to cry out for the Overwatcher to remove her from this plane once more, but found the words unable to fall from her lips. Instead she felt a warm hand touch her shoulder from behind. She spun around to see an unfamiliar face looking at her with great concern. The creature removed his hand from her and folded one leg in while propping up the other, foot flat on the ground plane, knee up to form an angle with the ground that allowed his elbow to rest easily on his kneecap. He looked at her with wide eyes.

“Who are you?” she demanded, folding her arms over her chest. How dare anyone come to her chambers to witness her demise.

The creature blinked, brows narrowing. “I’m unsure.”

Natasha turned from him and stalked out of her chambers into the large living area of the Mount. She saw Hephaestus on his way to his Forge. The mechanic went by a new name these days, something sharp and Germanic. Their names had shifted many times over many centuries. She herself had been called Aphrodite, Venus, Freya. When they’d made yet another move Westward she’d been tired and found it odd how they could forever go West and never end up in the East. In her ponderings she’d chosen a name representing of a destination she knew she’d never reach.

Secluded in her Garden, Natasha slipped from her clothing and adorned her robe. It was made of sunlight and moonbeams, a gift from the Twins for keeping her promise of never temping the youngest with Men, acknowledging her decision to remain a Maiden. (Apollo had joined her in musings of Western relocation and how it never came full circle, and he and his sister had taken Eastern names as well.)

She swallowed down the terror in her chest when she found how sickly her Garden had become. But she’d been having trouble finding Strings and if she couldn’t see them, how was she to nurture them?

She ran her fingers over velvety petals and felt water build on her eyelids at how she was unable to see what sort of love the flower represented.

“Do not cry, daughter goddess,” a warm voice resounded, filling the air of her Garden, sending ripples through the water of the pool, and shivers across the rays of her robe.

“Overwatcher,” she breathed. “Please, I beg of you, end my suffering.”

“Dear goddess,” the voice announced. “I already have.”

She gaped at the ceiling of her Garden, confused. “But Overwatcher, I awoke this morning unable to see a single String. I cannot nurture what I cannot see.”

“You cannot see them because I took them from you, daughter goddess.”

She felt her breath leave her. “I do not understand.”

“You were suffering, dear one. And your suffering was affecting the lives of those we protect on Earth below. You asked me to take you away, but I cannot do such a task without destroying those below. They need Love. You were too broken to help them.”

Oh how those words _stung_. They felt like a slap across the face. She tried desperately to pull herself together, to see and nurture the Strings as she was born to do. But the Strings would not come to her Sight and the pain was too great.

“I’ve made a creature to help you help them, daughter goddess.”

“The young thing in my room?” she practically spat.

“Yes. The God of Love.”

She closed her eyes and felt tears fall. “You are replacing me.”

“No, dear one. I’ve made you a partner. I made him with your Love. Daughter goddess, he is your Love. And he is tasked with aiding you in finding Love again.”

“But Overwatcher, I know what Love is. Please, just give me back my Sight. I just need to see the Strings again.”

But there was no reply and Natasha knew the Garden was empty.

 

She’d missed them the first time around but with his back to her she saw fluffy down wings. They were small, spread to about his elbows at full span. They would be useless for flying.

The creature turned to face her upon hearing her entrance. He grinned tentatively, lighting up his eyes. They were lovely eyes. Blue grey like the ocean in winter. She found it strange but fitting her Love would have such sorrow in his eyes.

“What am I to call you, creature?” she demanded, arms folded over her chest.

The thing tilted his head. “I’d heard the Overwatcher say Eros.”

She nodded once. She scrutinized him, observing every stroke the Overwatcher had made in this creation. He resembled all the gods here on the Mount, a human platform with a touch of gold in his aura. Sandy colored hair and lopsided smile, he was at best average: average height, average build, average features. His hair was not the golden blonde of Hercules, his musculature not that of Adonis. Were it not for the wings and the eyes, she’d have likely never noticed him.

But there was something about him, some kind of pull.

He was young. She could feel his youth radiating from him in waves. A part of her found it nauseating. There was an incredible drive to hurt him, to mar him and his naivety with her bitterness at the Overwatcher and the War and its god and her mistake. She wanted to strangle this creature and make it bleed because it would spite the Overwatcher and his horrendous intrusion into her soul to steal what little she’d had of Love and Sight to see the world’s Strings. This was not her Love. This was theft. His soul was made from the only good parts left of hers. What was she now? A Goddess of Love with no Love inside her?

What good was Love outside her heart and in the form of some young creature?

“What should I call you?” he asked, blue-grey eyes blinking.

Natasha narrowed her gaze. “You will call me nothing. I do not know the game Overwatcher is playing, but hear me. I will take my Love back from your soul if I have to pry it from your chest with my own hands.” She turned and left, tossing over her shoulder, “Leave my chambers, Eros. And never return.”

 

Human males were animals. She didn’t like to admit how often she visited the human earth below to reaffirm that fact. But a night with a human male cleared her head in a way no amount of mediation or rest ever could. She’d been to Earth nearly every night since Eros’s arrival. It didn’t matter how clear headed she felt in the morning, as soon as her mind awoke, it was filled with matters concerning the creature.

Apollo had taken him and taught him to use a bow. Hephaestus had forged special arrows and a quiver that would sit between his growing wings.

His youth was falling away by degrees.

But he was still painfully young and inexperienced. His aura beamed innocence, warmth, _Love._ Her Love.

She let her presence keep the man beside her sleeping as she dressed and removed herself from his lodgings. She walked the early morning street, blending in with the few travelers on a London street at this hour. Buildings still lay in shambles from the War. She cringed at the reminder.

And then she saw it. It was impossible to miss in the gray London sky and the early morning mist. Pink. Tender pink like the ribbons of a ballet shoe. It was a String.

She felt her heartbeat pick up as she scanned for the String’s owner. She reached a café and saw a young man reading a book inside, the String ending at the center of his chest. His deep brown skin and warm brown eyes looked damn near holy to her. He had a String and she could _see_ it!

Pink meant potential love, developing love. She took off running down the street in search of the other end of the String. It was nearly an hour later before she found its owner at a park searching the morning edition newspaper classifieds, looking for work.

Natasha’s smile nearly split her face as she reached out and touched the String, causing it to vibrate and pull and ripple as she suggested to the pretty pink ribbon that the woman get a job at a café near the square.

The rest of her day was spent in pure bliss as she watched the man and woman meet, interact, learn each other. With a grin and a spring in her step she began to make her way back to the Mount. But as she ascended, her eyes caught sight of a thread of silver in the pretty pink String. And when she looked again, she noticed at the end of the String was the head of an arrow.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she accused upon her first glimpse of Eros.

He blinked at her with those eyes.

“The arrows,” she clarified. “What? Do they contain love elixirs? Do you get a high from watching strangers fall in love? Well watch them in a few days when it wears off and you’ll see the hurt and devastation you’ve caused.”

He looked at her confused. “They don’t contain potions. They are just arrows.”

“Then why was I able to see the String?” She hated the crack in her voice at the end.

“Because that’s what they do,” he answered innocently. “I use them to point out Strings for you to nourish.” He stared at her, blue eyes begging her for something other than hostility.

She scoffed. “Overwatcher could’ve given me my Sight back and instead he gives me a Seeing Eye dog.” She regarded the creature before her. “Or rather pup.”

He looked like she’d slapped him. “You resent my youth,” he muttered and oh how she hated him. She wanted him to yell back, to beat her as badly as she wanted to him. The urge to mar his innocence had not left. She wanted her good, fulfilling, happy Love back. She wanted to beat it out of him, tear it from his young body and pull it into hers.

But instead she answered, “I resent your naivety.”

 

More arrows showed her Strings.

She hated how she had to rely on the creature to see them. But to nourish them felt like a breath of air after near a decade drowning. She was bathing in the pool, infusing the waters with her essence. The jars were waiting by the poolside ready to be full of the golden water that she would use to water her Garden. There were many plants here now, blooming and colorful in correspondence to their Strings.

“It’s beautiful,” a voice whispered.

She jumped, covering herself despite not being visible under the water.

Eros blushed deeply. “I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly.

“How did you get in here?” The outside wall to her Garden was made to only let her in. This was her space and hers alone.

Eros shrugged. His wings had grown to an impressive length. Smooth, pure white feathers extended from his back. “I walked. I saw a whole bunch of lovely Strings and I just had to know where they were coming from.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. While able to see the Strings thanks to his aid, they all showed up with his silver thread in them, dulling their colors. She missed her pure Strings. She missed seeing them without the help of such a creature as him.

“Leave, Eros,” she ordered. “You are not allowed here.”

His shoulders sagged, folding his perfect wings in behind his back. He was filling out in his frame, growing more muscular and confident in his godly body. He was still young, so unaware of the cruelty associated with Love.

She watered her Garden and noticed with each flower a line of sliver that was not there before Eros’s entrance.

 

He encountered his first poisoned String.

She found him crying in a courtyard and thought for a moment that she should have warned him. But she pushed the thought away and instead stood behind him and told him plainly that Love will always hurt worse than Death.

He looked at her with watery blue eyes. He was older now, the poisoned String aging him past youth and into adulthood. “It just…why? Why does it have to happen?”

She felt the knife of his words plunge deep inside her. Stepping away she answered, “Ask Overwatcher.”

 

“Why did you make him so young?” she inquired, kneeling before the dying Flower that corresponded to the poisoned String.

“Children know Love better than anyone, dear one.”

“You gave me a young man, not a child.”

“Daughter goddess, his fledgling knowledge of Love was that of a Child’s. As he has learned of it, he has aged.”

“Was I supposed to teach him?”

“You have.”

She stilled and glanced up to the voice. “I’ve shown him nothing but resentment.”

“Even the God of War knows Love, dear one. For like War and Peace, Love needs Hatred in order to be fully understood.”

“Is that what I am, Overwatcher? The Hatred to his Love?”

“He is your Love, daughter goddess.”

She sighed. “I do not understand why you took what was left of my Love and gave it to another soul.”

“Was it not suffering in yours?”

She took a heavy breath and closed her eyes before yanking out the poisoned Flower. “What am I to do with Eros, Overwatcher?”

“What you do for all Love, dear one. Nourish.”  

 

She watched him flitter about, playing happily with the Twins as they shot arrows into moving targets. It was a game she’d seen the archers play many times before, but the addition of Eros was new. She tried not to think of it as pride when she saw he was winning.

He caught sight of her and stilled. His gentle smiles had stopped; she no longer received them upon her entrance.

Holding her head high she requested, “Eros, may I talk to you?”

The young archer exchanged a look with the God of Sun and Goddess of Moonlight. But he handed them his bow and joined Natasha. His aura rippled with hesitancy and she tried not to think about how much that hurt.

They walked the great halls of the Mount until they came to her Garden. She stopped and motioned for him to enter first. He stared at her with wide eyes but followed her direction.

“The arrows point to the Strings,” she began, “but with the silver in them, I cannot see their true intensity.” She knelt before a small Flower and took its petals gently into her hand. “Tell me, Eros. Has this pink Love yet turned to red?”

It was a moment before he was sat next to her on the sun-colored pathway of her Garden, leaning over, examining the Flower. “It is not red yet.” He glanced at her. “But it’s close.”

The hope in his voice was like a wire wrapped around her throat. He wanted to encourage her, he wanted her to stop hating him. He wanted to be close to her, to do what she wanted him to. She could feel it.

_Nourish_ , the Overwatcher had told her.

She breathed a moment, evening her emotions. “Thank you, Eros.”

His lips turned up into a tender smile.

For the first time since she’d met him she wanted to smile back. Nourish. So she turned to another Flower. “Is this one more yellow or orange?”  

He studied it. “It…” blink, “I’ve never seen one so balanced.”

She did smile at that. “That’s a good sign. Yellow is friendship. When it looks orange it means it’s on its way to gold.” She packed the dirt a little tighter around the Flower. “Gold is for the oldest friendships.”

He was leaning in and she felt the softest brush of his wing against the skin of her arm. It made her breath catch and he looked up at her gasp. He said not a word but had a brow raised.

His eyes were so lovely.

“Any others?” he asked.

She shook her head. “That’ll be all.”

He rose and took a step down the path before turning back and offering her a hand to help her up. She shook her head, staying on the ground with her Flowers.

But as he left she noticed the Flowers he’d touched gained a new thread of silver, stealing more color from her. It flared her anger, and were it not her Cardinal Sin, she’d have plucked the Flowers from the Garden bed and trampled them into dust.

 

Poisoned Flowers show up in a separate bed than the rest. She rid the soil of them quickly to avoid their sickness spreading to the other Flowers. But when she walked in one day to see the Poisoned bed full, she was confused and more than a little alarmed. She sent a messenger for Eros and heard his wings beating the air long before he arrived.

“You called for me.”

She nodded and pointed to the bed of Poisoned Flowers. “What do you know of this?”

He put on a bright smile and knelt next to them. “I located as many Poisoned Strings as I could and shot arrows at them.”

“Why?” she inquired staying far away from the infected bed.

His face fell. “So you can nourish them. I saw you do it with the Flowers over there. So why not bring these back to health. It would take some work, sure, but I could help you see the colors and-”

“Eros, enough!”

He snapped his head to face hers looking confused and hurt.

“I cannot nourish Poisoned Strings. Once they are Poisoned, they are as good as dead. There’s nothing I can do for them.”

“But-” He looked so lost, running his hands over the many Flower heads, stroking their velvety petals so caringly. “All they need is a little Love.”

It felt like ice ran through her blood. “Love?”

His eyes snapped to hers.

Acid consumed her voice. “Love? You want me to give them Love? I can’t, Eros. _You_ have it! You have all that remains of my Love!”

He swallowed hard, standing. “I can help. Like with the others. I can help you know what they need, what color they are, what-”

“They are _Poisoned_ , Eros! A Poisoned String cannot be healed.”

His head bowed and he took a step closer to her, coming to rest just over a hand span before her. He was so close, so desperate, so… still so horribly young. “I just wanted to help them,” he whispered.

“You can’t,” she spat.

“But-”

“You’re so stupid, Eros!” She was infuriated at his insistence, at his lack of knowledge about Love, _her_ Love. And he was so damn close now she could rip it from his chest and take back what was hers.

But his eyes held pain and sorrow and so much hurt, hurt that she’d put there. It enraged her and she shoved him away hard at his broad shoulders.

“You think you know about Love? You think it’s worth protecting, saving,” another shove. “You know nothing, Eros. You think the human world cares about Love? All it’s after is self indulgence.” She hit him again and it would be much later when she realized he let her. “You bring me a Garden full of Poison and think you can cure it? You are a fool, Eros.” Shove. “A young,” shove, ”stupid,” shove, “worthless fool!”

Her final shove had him toppling over the edge of the Garden bed and crashing into the colorful Flowers below. She heard stems snap and could see petals flying loosely in the wind. And him, Eros, scrambling to get up out of the dirt, tears in his eyes as he took in the trampled Flowers.

“Look what you’ve done!” she screamed, dropping to her knees, horrified at the damage.

“What I’ve done?”

And there it was. A new note entered his voice, one so familiar to her and so odd from him. Anger flashed in his eyes and she felt it like a physical blow.

“Get out,” she demanded.

One beat of his smooth, perfect wings and he was gone.

 

The Garden recovered quickly as she poured herself into nourishing the damaged Flowers. The Flowers in the Poisoned bed that he’d touched had turned silver. She tossed all but those away. When she plucked them they had stiffened and turned to metal like his arrows. And the Flowers he’d fallen upon had large streaks of silver in them as well.

She asked the Overwatcher about this but was met with silence.

She was met with silence for the rest of the cycle of the Moon chariot, hearing from neither the Overwatcher nor Eros.

“Please,” she begged as she watered the Garden. “Talk to me. Tell me what to do about Eros. Tell me about the silver in the Flowers. Tell me why you made him. You said it was done in mercy, but he’s been nothing but a punishment. Have I not suffered enough in your eyes?”

She watered the newest addition to the Garden, a pale green one that showed of young, new familial love. Perhaps the birth of a child. It enriched in color quickly as she touched it.

So young, innocent.

“Eros,” she breathed. Then, turning to face the ceiling of her Garden, “Please, give me back my Love.”

 

Each day a new Flower showed up. She found herself looking for them as a signal that Eros was alive and well. And when a week passed that no new Flowers appeared, she grew desperately worried and went down to the Human Earth to search for him.

She followed his aura to a cemetery. It was nearing night and heavy clouds had gathered in the sky. It was winter here in this part of the human world.

She found Eros sitting atop a stone monument, looking down at the graves. The first flakes of an approaching storm fluttered down around him. He looked strangely at ease there, like he belonged. She decided it was because of his snow-white wings.

“Eros,” she called gently.

He turned his eyes to her, all big and blue. She felt something shake deep in her core when she saw how much he’d aged. He was grown now, knew of Love.

He shook snow off his wings and glided down to meet her. He didn’t say a word as he studied her, but his eyes were querying why she was here.

“There were no new Flowers,” she answered the unasked question.

She was unsure what his response would be, but never expected a bowed head and a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “But I’ve been…preoccupied.” He glanced over his now impressive shoulder to graves being dusted with snow. “I found me.”

“What?”

“Who I was before…before Overwatcher made me.” He paused. “At least… I think.”

She didn’t know what to say and could only think to offer, “Self Soul Strings are white.”

He nodded. He took in a breath and let it out in a cloud of condensation in the cold evening air. “I can’t see my String. That was my Cardinal Condition. I can see every String on any plane, save for my own.” He nodded to where his quiver was leaning up against the monument he’d been on previously. “And if I so much prick my finger on one of my arrows I’ll bleed as the mortals do and be sent to Hades’ Gate.”

She didn’t anticipate this to sadden her as it did. But she should have expected it. Love always came with a price. But to not see his own String…

A part of her whispered that he was lucky. For he’d know if a god was playing a trick with his heart as one once had with hers.

“I have an idea,” he began, turning back to her. “You can see the lines if I show you, yes?”

She nodded.

He went and drew an arrow from his quiver and brought it over. He waited until her eyes met his before he reasoned, “I was made from you. You could maybe see my old String.”

She understood his intention and it scared her at first. She wrapped her arms around herself hoping he’d interpret it as staving off the cold. But his blue, blue eyes were observant.

He lowered the arrow to his side. “I’m sorry, I just…”

She knew it was unfair. She’d sought him out. After so long of ignoring him, she’d gone searching. What had she expected to find? She should’ve known he’d want something from her. After all wasn’t it only fair? He’d given her countless Strings to nourish even after how hostile she’d been towards him. And the one thing he’d asked in return she’d all but turned down.

She took a breath and touched the hand holding the arrow. “Do it,” she breathed, letting the word join his breath in the snowy air.

A smile came to his lips and she felt the squeeze of something in her chest. She’d never noticed how much it lit up his eyes. She’d never known how badly she missed seeing that smile.

“It won’t hurt,” he assured her as he touched the tip of the arrow to the center of her breastbone. There was pressure, then light as the arrow dissolved. A thin thread of silver flapped loosely for a moment and she searched around for any sign of his white String. But her gaze was shot back to her own chest when a blinding, burning, brilliant red light emerged from it.

The flaming red String materialized in building particles, stretching, extending, and stopping in the center of Eros’s chest. The silver thread from before wound around the String in graceful, delicate loops. The red settled and she found that its color was one she’d never seen before. Deep red, blood red, the red of wine, of passion, bright and burning and beautiful.

“What do you see?” Eros asked.

_Red,_ she wanted to answer. _The most beautiful red_.

She noticed then the other Strings around her. These Strings she knew he saw: black, hollow, severed and flapping wildly. The Strings of the Dead. But amongst them she saw a strand of bluish white, like that of a distant star.

“There,” she pointed, failing to ignore the intense red blooming from her chest.

Eros followed her finger, looking back at her for confirmation. She nodded, directing him, while keeping an eye on the extending red line.

“Here?” he asked.

She nodded, took a step closer, watched the String shorten. It was most definitely connected to the two gods.

But she’d never seen a String that _red_.

Eros knelt in the snow, brushed clear the dirt and lichen on the name of the stone before him. She stepped closer. The String shortened more, grew even more intense.

“Clinton Barton,” he muttered. His lips quirked up on the ends. “Sounds like me.”

“You should go by it,” she found herself saying. Off his look she added, “We chose names to adapt to the Human World.”

“Clinton?” he tested. He shook his head. “Clint.”

Why did that make the String vibrate so?

He stood. The String moved with him. He turned to look at her and she noticed the silver thread twisted tighter around the red String. “Thank you,” he expressed sincerely.

He came close enough to put his hands on her upper arms. “I’ll return to giving you Flowers to nourish, Natasha.”

And with that he was gone.

 

Natasha pondered the blinding String protruding from her chest. Its color was so unique. She’d seen red Love Strings before. But this…

She tried to write it off that the silver was messing with the hue. But when she found the String’s corresponding Flower it had no silver in it and was the same forceful red.

It wrapped around her when she slept. It was warm to the touch and she’d found her Garden flourished tenfold upon watering it with water from the pool after she’d bathed. Whatever this String was, it was the most powerful connection she’d ever seen.

As promised, new Flowers showed up every day. It was now June in the Human World. Summer always brought a large crop of tender pink Strings. Young loves still being explored rose exponentially in the warmer months. She was on her knees humming as she tended to the Flowers, encouraging them when she felt him enter.

She turned and as he filled her vision something deep inside her unfurled, like a knot had been untied.

“You’re back,” she greeted.

Clint smiled wide. “Apollo would kill me if I was not here for the Solstice. And I missed the Mount.”

His aura had gained much radiance in doing his work on Earth. The Overwatcher always rewarded hard work.

Clint was stretching his wings, taking time to extend every feather. It made Natasha’s breath stop in her throat.

“The Garden looks nice,” he complimented. But there was a shade in his eyes. Their last time together here had not been pleasant.

She extended her hand and motioned for him to join her. He did so but not without hesitation. She pointed to the Flower she’d been working with. “This one showed up just a day ago. It’s already shifted shades.” She looked at him. “Well on its way to red.”

And with him right next to her, everything looked red. The vibrant String from her chest was almost painful to look at.

Clint’s eyes scanned the Garden, taking in the various Flowers and no doubt matching Strings to them. He blinked heavily at one and it took her a moment to realize that it was the Flower that coordinated with the String currently beaming from her, connecting to him.

“I don’t remember this one,” he said plainly. “Such a strange color.”

She wanted to tell him. But how would she say it? She was the Goddess of Love who’s Love had been taken and given to another. He was the God of Love and could not see his own Love connecting him to her.

Instead she asked, “Why does your touch turn the Flowers silver?”

He chuckled, something low and deep; it made the marrow in her bones rattle. “It was described to me as ink by the God of the Forge. For you to see the Strings I’d need to mark them. But like ink, it stains my fingers.” He added after a beat. “It doesn’t hurt the Flowers. I promise.”

She knew that. And it would in a way explain the poisoned Strings turning to solid silver. Poisoned Strings are absorbent – that is what makes them dangerous. They’d have soaked up as much ink from him as they could and, once removed from the warmth of the Garden ground, froze.

“Natasha, I… I want to apologize. When last I was here, I…I didn’t yet know of heartache.”

“You were young,” she reasoned, not meeting his eyes. “It was my fault for not understanding that.”

He reached out and touched her hand, a light touch, like the feathers in his wings. But it made the String that connected them ripple.

“The Overwatcher rescued your Love, Natasha. In creating me, he was able to save it.” He pulled a wing in and began preening loose feathers. “I’d give it back if I could.”

She sighed heavily. “Did he ever tell you why?”

“Why what?”

“Why I was unable to rescue my own Love.”

He shook his head.    

The words were right there on the tip of her tongue. She could tell him, give him the explanation for her bitterness and anger, for why she was so cruel to him. She could feel the warmth of the String, of his downy wings, of him and the Love he housed inside him.

But the words would not leave.

He understood this. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and stood. “Take your time, Natasha.” Then, “But I am glad to see you are healing.”

As he left, she felt like a wave was crashing over her.

Was that what the String was? Healing? By removing her Love from her poisoned soul had she been somehow freed to heal?

She was the Goddess of Love! How had ridding her of her purpose allowed her to become more whole?

The String thinned, flickering for a moment, and she panicked, touching the vibrant red light and praying to the Overwatcher to keep it lit. It stayed, but its intensity dropped to something duller.

The silver ink line spread, encasing the thing.

 

The silver casing did not ease. She longed desperately for the red to return. She caught glimpse of it some times, seeping through the silver casing. The Flower petals had also been wrapped in protective silver degree by degree.

At the end of the Solstice, Eros returned to the Human World.

Natasha thought of ways to bring back the red. She pondered if telling Clint what had happened would aid or hinder. He couldn’t see the String. She hadn’t explained the Flower. He didn’t know about either one and she felt like it should stay her secret.

But the silver ink was his. It was protecting the red. But from what? Her? It had happened when she’d grown angry at him. Was it protecting him? She prayed to the Overwatcher, but with the Solstice only just passed, the higher one needed rest.

She contemplated asking the God of the Forge, for he would know about metals. But he had a loud mouth and tendency to drink. Athena-Maria was the wisest of them all, but she was most busy rebuilding after the War.

In the end, she turned to the God of War. He had shared many secrets with her in the past. He knew the devastation of pain. He knew the long road of healing.

“Hello, Yasha.” The glint of his steel arm brought back painful memories. A flash of gold told her they were not alone. “Hercules.”

The Golden Hero nodded to her. “I’m afraid, dear goddess, today is not a good day. He’s been unresponsive.”

“He’s angry you must leave him now that the Solstice is over.”

The hero nodded. “Hades is not lenient. It was only binding contract that allowed my visit at all.”

Natasha nodded. “I understand, Golden One. But I still wish to speak to him.”

The Hero bent and kissed his god’s cheek, telling him he’d be back momentarily. The God of War did not respond.

Natasha knelt before the god. He looked so tired, slumped over in the chair that sat by the window in his chamber. “Yasha,” she began, “I’ve been given a String. A real one. And I’ve already managed to hurt it.” She shifted her weight onto the backs of her heels. “You know of Eros. He was created from my Love. Overwatcher tells me he is my Love. I let him prick me with one of his arrows. That is when I saw the String connecting me to him. It’s beautiful, Yasha.” She sighed. “But I’ve somehow…altered it. Eros’s arrows have silver ink that turns to metal once cooled. The String is now covered in it.”

The god’s head rose, eyes so old and torn staring at her. He reached out and touched her cheek with his metal arm. “You injured it.” A heavy, labored breath, “a prosthetic String.”

She bowed her head. “I want to heal it.”

“Then you mustn’t let your body reject it.”

With heavy shoulders she stood. The god’s eyes didn’t follow her. She was to the door before he spoke. “What color, Natalia?”

She knew he was not asking about hers. “Red-gold,” she answered. “Still your friend, still your lover. Hades has not yet taken that from you.”

 

Her thoughts on the String had consumed her mind for well into the Human month of August. She had not seen Eros in any of that time. But lovely new Flowers bloomed daily, touched with silver ink.

She was watering the Garden when a small sound drew her attention towards the Tree that sat in the center of the circle where her Garden paths combined. The Tree had been a favor to Demeter. The Nature Goddess wished to prove to Hades that she could grow fruit in any realm. In return for housing her Tree, Natasha was allowed to keep any of the fruit it produced. Demeter had won the bet and Natasha had kept the tree. But after the War it had produced no blossoms, no fruit. It too had been a victim of her suffering.

The soft sound she’d heard had been a green apple falling from a high branch. It wasn’t unusual for a few unripe fruits to fall, for the tree naturally selected only the best. But she craved the fruit. It had been years since she’d tasted it, and so she left to find the Nature Goddess and ask her to hurry the small green fruit along.

But the Nature Goddess had dangerous associations. There, lounging in the receiving area of the goddess’s chambers was a face Natasha despised.

The God of Death smirked in greeting of her. “What brings you here,” he charmed.

Natasha felt her body quake at the sound of his voice. The snake. And here she was bringing an apple.

She’d read this story once.

She raised her chin, keeping her head high. “I must say, Great Undertaker, I preferred you as the ancient scorned child to this trickster.”

His smirk widened. “Come now, Natasha. We were free to chose as we are with every move Westward. Why would I pick to be a petulant child when I can have so much influence?”  

Natasha did not answer, choosing to instead glare at the god. “Is Demeter in?” she asked.

The Great Undertaker’s smile eased into something that showed teeth. “I’m afraid not. She’s out spending the day with my Bride.”

“Isn’t it a little early to be lurking around her chambers then? You don’t get Persephone’s affection for a few more months.”

The god laughed, an oily sound like contaminated water bubbling from corroded pipes. “I have my Bride’s affections year round, sweet goddess.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Natasha started darkly, “as I can’t see Strings anymore.”

“Oh, but you can see mine.” The God of Death smirked. “I made sure of it.”

Natasha felt her blood freeze in her veins. If the God of Death had done what he was implying, it meant he’d sought out Eros, had spoken to him. And that silver tongue of his had a permanent black mark on their shared history.

With impressive speed she shoved the god up against the wall, arm against this throat, eyes locked, and a snarl deep in the back of her chords.

“You vile snake; you stay the hell away from Eros.”

The god snickered. “Oh, dear goddess, I’d ask if this were Love but I know you haven’t a scrap left in you.”

Natasha pushed him against the wall further. “Which means there’s nothing keeping me from wringing you.” A shove against his windpipe. “Tell me, God of Lies, what horrible deal did you strike with him.”

“Nothing terrible,” he hissed, beginning to struggle for breath. “I simply told him that if he marked my String I’d teach him how to guard himself against his deepest fear.”

“Which was?”

He leered. “I love that you don’t know. He’s been designed for you Natasha and yet you care so little for him you don’t even know his delicious little secret.”

“Tell me.”

“Or what? You’ll strangle me. Do you really think you can kill Death?”

“I can kill your String.”

His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t commit your Cardinal Sin on me.”

“Wouldn’t have to. I’m disallowed to poison your String, but there’s no rule or law that says I can’t simply refuse to nourish it. Persephone’s resentment of you and your wicked deeds done to your fellow gods would be enough to make it rot on its own.”

She felt the god swallow from below her grip. “Very well.”

She eased up slightly, letting him get air.

“He’s terrified, Natasha, of you. He feels your rejection of him like a physical ache. He asked me to find a way to protect what he cannot see.”

Natasha tried to hide her gasp. “His String.”

The god nodded. “I showed him how the ink hardens when cooled and how he could use it shelter his String against your moods.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Meaning what?”

The god grinned maliciously. “Don’t you see, Natalia? If the String is sheltered, you cannot Poison it.”

Her fractured heart hardened in her chest as she scanned the God of Death’s eyes for signs of lying. She found none.

Eros believed she’d commit her Cardinal Sin to be rid of him.    

That was truth.

And it stung like a hornet.

She dropped her grip from the god and stormed from the Nature Goddess’s chambers to her own.

Her anger grew, spread, and consumed her once there. She toppled furniture and shattered mirrors, not bothering to even wince as the shards cut her.

Eros believed she’d kill him. She wanted to curse and scream and claw at his skin, make him pay for such thoughts. But was he really to blame? Was she so far from the monster he thought her to be?

She’d treated him poorly. Every show of kindness had been met with resistance and his mistakes had been shown nothing but anger. Her disproval of him was no secret. It should not shock her in the slightest that he feared her slipping into such rage that she’d Poison his String and condemn herself in doing so.

She sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face, as she looked at the small silver String protruding from her chest. It had encased itself when her temper had flared, anger directed at Eros. He’d gone on the defensive.

She wept at the unfairness, at the punishment the Overwatcher had given her. Her Love was stored in some other soul and she was left to suffer.

“Please,” she begged once more. “Give me back my Love.”

It was a moment before she heard a faint whisper back that replied, “I’m right here.”

Natasha whipped her head around to see Clint standing at the entrance to her chambers.

His wings were folded behind his back and looked ragged, dripping with dirty water. His face had a small cut near the brow that leaked golden Ichor. He took a careful step forward and repeated, “I’m right here.”

Natasha turned away from him, eyes on the shattered mirror around her knees. Her image was distorted, a wretched creature in pieces on the floor. “What a monster you must think me, Eros. To have the foresight to guard yourself against my inevitable wrath.” She closed her eyes. “How I wish I could call you young and foolish and so selfish for thinking I’d ever commit my Cardinal Sin just to be rid of you. But now I fear you may have been wise to seek out protection.” She heard him making his way closer. “But what’s to be expected of a Goddess of Love who’s Love has been taken from her.”

He was right behind her now. “But I’m right here.” He knelt beside her and her eyes met his in the shattered pieces on the ground. Gently he reached for her hand but she moved away.

“I’d only poison you,” she whispered, pulling in a shaky breath. “Ever since the God of Death tricked me, that’s all I’ve ever done.”

Clint frowned in the multitude of reflections around them. He paused then breathed ever so slightly, “Tell me.”

She kept her teary face hidden, avoided his eyes. “The God of Death’s realm was low on numbers. Advances in medicine had made the Humans below more resilient. Needing subjects, the God devised a plan to start a war.

“As a Grand Illusionist, he projected a String between the God of War and I. It was a lovely pink and I was eager to nourish it. But nothing I did changed the color to red. The God of War believed it was because I wasn’t willing to fall in Love with him. It angered him, exactly how the God of Death had planned.

“The God of War shook the Human Earth with battlelust. Strings began to snap left and right as War ravaged the Earth. It was then that the Hero Hercules was called upon to aid Humanity. And it was then I noticed the String connecting the Hero to the God of War. Curious I nourished it and watched it change to a pleasant red.

“The War stopped. The Hero and the God of War were very happy.

“But by connecting the God of War to his real String, the illusion vanished and we found out the God of Death’s plan. The War God had plans to seek revenge and pushing the God of Death, but he was too slow in his attack.

“The God of Death struck first.

“He convinced the War God I had tricked the Hero into loving him, that their String wasn’t real. Under the influence of the God of Death’s suggestion, he came after me. In his ill-reached conclusion, the God of War attacked me, spreading the Death God’s influence into my body and forcing me to turn against my Cardinal Condition, and Poison thousands of Strings.”

She paused, hating every word of her confession.

“It was only when Hercules surrendered himself in trade to the God of Death for our release did I awake from the Influence of the God of Death.

“My Love was damaged, Eros. When I awoke and saw what I’d done, I fell deep into sadness and seclusion. The Influence from the God of Death had left the War God’s mind damaged. The Overwatcher had to force an early move Westward in order to restore much of the Mount.”

She shook her head, still avoiding Clint’s amazing eyes.

“I couldn’t recover,” she confessed. “My Love was damaged from my deeds. The World was suffering from my inability to see Strings, to nourish them. I had very little Love left to give. And then you showed up with it.” She finally turned to him, tears rolling off her cheeks. “Overwatcher removed my Love to give it to you. And now I have none left.”  

He blinked at her, heavily, slow, like he had in the beginning days of his existence. “My dear goddess, do you think yourself vacant of Love?”

She nodded. “Your existence proves that.”

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “No, Natasha. No. Oh, dear one, you don’t understand.” He moved closer. “I am your Love.”

“Yes. The Overwatcher took-”

“Overwatcher took nothing.” He placed a hand under her chin, gently, so gently lifting her face to hold her gaze. “I _am_ your love. You think it some kind of transference, an exchange, but that’s not it. I’m you Love’s physical form. And as long as I’m here, you have Love.”

Her heart was beating fast in her chest at the intensity of his eyes and the words falling from his lips. The warmth of his hand was spreading through her. She could feel his pulse from the soft fingertips under her chin. And yes, just below the surface of that warmth was something so familiar it was easily a part of her. Her Love.

He was _her_ Love.

“Tell me you understand,” he breathed, leaning in so that she could feel his breath on her cheeks.

“I do.”

He smiled, wide and lovely, and leaned closer still. “You feel it?”

“Yes.”

A hand carefully placed on her back, easing her off the ground and to her feet. “Good.” He kept his hands in place but her eyes were locked on his. And as she lost track of time, staring and feeling the familiarity of her Love humming in his pulse, she slowly became aware of a red glow. She flicked her eyes down to see the silver casing had been removed and her String connecting her to Eros was radiating its blood red light.

“Clint,” she breathed. He was still so close. And suddenly it all made sense, seemed like the only possible explanation. She leaned in, closed the distance, and touched her lips to his.

The contact burned pleasantly.   

 

She had lain with the God of War while under the impression of being potential lovers due to the Death God’s illusion. It had been noticeable, the difference, between lying with a man and lying with a god. There was a better connection of spirit with a deity than with man. Warm skin had felt more solidified, blood had pounded harder. There were many marked differences and Natasha had spent countless mornings on Earth Below mentally cataloguing them.

But none of those distinctions had held a candle to how it felt to lie with Eros.

It wasn’t just the familiarity of her Love thrumming through his veins, it was his warmth, his gentleness. It was the way he was able to read her, give her exactly what she needed.

She lay wrapped in his arms, the Red string surrounding both their bodies. It was the first time in what felt like centuries that she was warm.

She turned in his embrace and kissed him awake, watching the smile appear on his face before his beautiful eyes opened. She kissed him again, this time on the mouth, and he responded to her, rolling them gently so she lay beneath him.

He pulled away from the kiss with a contented sigh. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he confessed in a whisper. His lips moved down her jaw to her neck.

She chuckled softly. “Does it live up to your expectations?”

“Surpasses them with ease,” he replied.

She let him kiss her all over, reveling in the warmth and comfort of having her love so close. She silently thanked the Overwatcher for giving her this chance, for saving her love and putting it in such a handsome form.

When Clint finally pulled away enough for her to look at him, she braced a hand on his cheek and asked, “Will you come lay with me in my garden today?”

His grin could rival the sun Apollo drove through the sky.

 

The Flowers had thicker blooms, more vibrant colors. Where they’d once been marked in silver were now beaming the same red as her String. She sang to herself as she worked, nourishing the Flowers one-by-one. She was watering the last bed when she noticed a brand new spout forming rapidly into a flower, golden yellow and bursting with friendship. She smiled fondly at it, thanking her archer back on Earth Below for giving it to her. He still spent most his time there, marking Flowers for her to nourish. But he came to the Mount whenever he had the chance and she greatly anticipated his visits.

The Twins had good-naturedly ribbed them about an upcoming union ceremony. But both she and Eros felt they’re bond was more than some ritual could provide. It didn’t stop the little hints and nods from the others on the Mount, though. The God of the Forge repeatedly hummed a common Human wedding march. Even the Nature Goddess offered to provide any needed silk to make a dress and veil.

But Natasha gently refused them. Clint made her happy and that was all she needed.

The tree’s fruit was plump and ripe, ready to be harvested. She picked the reddest, juiciest one and offered it to the Overwatcher. Then she plucked a basket full of apples and handed them out to the various gods and goddesses she passed on her way to see the Nature Goddess.

She’d come with the intention of offering the rest of the harvest to her fellow goddess, but what she found was the poor woman in tears.

“He has taken her early,” she spat out.

Natasha noticed the apples turning to brown mush.

“Demand her back,” she offered to the Nature Goddess. “The God of Death must honor his contract.”

The woman shook her head, dark hair swaying on her back. Natasha tried to recall the goddess’s new name since the last push Westward. It was for sure one of the months on the human’s Julian calendar.

“He refuses to speak with me.” She looked up, almond eyes drying as hard determination set in. “I cannot let him have her yet. It is not time.”

Natasha knelt down next to the goddess, May – if she remembered correctly – and prayed with her to the Overwatcher.

“I will consult with the God of War,” Natasha announced. “If there is news from the Underworld, he will know of it.”

 

James’s eyes were heavy, weary. He looked ancient despite being no older than the rest of them. His metal arm rested against the chair in his chambers, detached and unkept. She supposed the Golden Hero had not been by recently to remind the God of War to take care of himself.

She knelt before him, gently placing a hand on his arm to carefully direct his attention to the present, to her presence. “James,” she started in a breathy whisper. It took a moment but his eyes eventually focused on her. “Tell me, Yasha, have you heard from the Underworld? Has the Golden Hero told you of the Nature Goddess’s daughter?”

James blinked heavily, eyes carrying the weight of his pain, of his loss. “He took her.”

“Yes. Do you know why?”

James shook his head. “But the Cold will come early. And Dust. And Ash. Nature is not happy with this upheaval.” He closed his eyes, took a breath. “The God of Death wishes to start another War. I can feel him calling for me, begging I break to his Influence once more, that I rampage and ravage the Earth Below. But I cannot. I am too tired. My bones are bruised to their marrow. I wish not to hurt the Human World again, to enslave them to War for his wishes.” He looked up at her. “Not when it had just began to learn your Love again.”

She placed a hand on his cheek, comforting him as much as she could.

“I plan to confront the God of Death,” she announced. “If you can, send word to the Golden Hero. Tell him to round up the innocent Souls and keep them away from the fight I fear will be inevitable.”

The God nodded. “Be careful, Natalia.” He pointed to a table near the chamber door. “Take the daggers that lie there. They are my last weapons.”

She kissed his cheek, feeling his age at the skin under his growing stubble. “Thank you, Yasha.”

She picked up the knives and held them close. As she closed the door she heard the God offer up a prayer to the Overwatcher for her safety, for her return.

 

She prepared to make the journey into the Underworld when a hand caught her arm. Eros stood before her, full quiver slung on his back between his wings. She watched their blinding String wrap around him before doing the same to her.

“I’m coming with you,” he stated firmly.

“This is my fight, Clint.” She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.

He shook his head. “I don’t trust the God of Death. The Trickster will aim to get into your head, Nat. I’m requesting to accompany you as a failsafe. As a backup. Yes, this is your fight but I’m asking you don’t try to battle the god alone.”

She pursed her lips but nodded, taking his hand in hers and leading them to the entry to the Underworld. “Thank you,” she whispered. He held her hand tighter.

 

The Underworld was quiet. The hellish screams from Tartarus were all but muted by the vast expanse of nothingness that stretched as far as the mind could perceive. Natasha could feel breath on her neck, shivers running up her spine, but her eyes no longer held Sight meaning the phantoms were masked to her. She glanced up to Clint beside her, could see his sharp eyes scanning thousands of forms, flinching ever so slightly when one got too close. They could not be harmed here, not by the spirits at least.

“I had faith you would come here,” the slithering voice of the God of Death sounded behind them.

Nat spun around, keeping mind of the daggers strapped to her waist.

The God smiled sickeningly. “My how it does _glow_.”

She felt the String tighten protectively around her and wondered if it was an innate attempt on Clint’s part to keep her safe, protected.

Death turned his gaze toward Eros and laughed. “You think something as young, as foolish as you can shield her against what she deserves?”

“Deserves for what?” Natasha cut in.  

The God of Death’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare play innocent with me, wretch. I heard you loud and clear that day. You threatened to let my String go to waste, to withhold its nourishment. And that’s _exactly_ what you did.”

She raised her chin. “I did no such-”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Death spat. “You can see it, yes? I know you can. I had your precious Eros here stake it with his damn arrow. I know you must see it!”

She did. And oh how it stung to see a String so poisoned. But she saw traces of her work in it as well, attempts to revive a thing that could, in the end, never be saved. “I warned you that your bride would resent you,” she hissed. “How could she not when all you do is trick and lie.”

The God of Death snarled. “And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this? That you didn’t lay waste to my String in revenge for what I did to you? That your sudden burning, flaunted, happiness with your Love was purely coincidental?”

“Poisoning your String would be committing her Cardinal Sin,” Clint protested.

The God of Death laughed. “Your flaw is your faith, young one. You believe this witch wouldn’t destroy my Love in revenge for having hers taken away?”

“It was never taken away!” Eros yelled back, hand going for his bow. “Tell him, Nat. Tell him how I am-”

“Eros.” She raised a hand to silence him before stepping closer to Death. Calmly she stated, “I did not touch your String barring my efforts to save it. If it has died it is your own doing.”

The Death God’s brows narrowed.

“Now, you will fetch Persephone and return her to the Mount until her binding contract comes into effect.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I’ll persuade you,” she answered, removing one of the daggers from her belt.

The God of Death slowly shook his head, eyes growing wild and dark. “Oh, dear Goddess of Love. Surely you can understand the desperation that comes with losing Love.” He snapped out his wrist placing his palm in the center of Clint’s chest. In an instant the young god’s eyes turned blank save for a pale blue the shined at the irises.

Natasha gasped for she knew that look. It had once been on her own visage, driving her mad, pulling her out and leaving nothing but the God of Death’s Influence behind.

“My Love is dead because of you, Natasha. Think of this as your repentance.”

But Natasha barely heard the Death God’s remark as Clint loaded his bow and fired it at her. She dodged the arrow, taking the second dagger from her belt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the God summon a throne from the Underworld’s crust; he sat down leisurely to watch.

Nat avoided another arrow that came her way but narrowly escaped the swing of the bow like a staff that came next. She ducked, using her position to gain leverage and jump over the second swing. She swiped out with the knife, nicking Eros in the arm. His pained hiss struck her to her core.

The Death God chuckled and taunted, “This will only end one way, dear goddess. Either your Love kills you or you slay him.”

“Vile snake!” she screamed, avoiding Clint twirling an arrow and stabbing it down towards her. “Release him!”

The God smirked. “Where would the fun in that be?”

She growled ferally as she was forced to strike out again with her knives, catching Clint in the chest and neck. The golden Ichor that leaked from his wounds stained her blades, dripping onto her hands. She felt ill at the sight, repulsed at what she was being forced to do.

“Let him go!” she screamed, desperation apparent in her voice.

The Death God only flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Eros swung again with his bow, successfully landing a bruising hit at her side. She curled into the pain but put up a dagger to stop his next blow. She missed his other hand, which slipped in and secured itself around her neck, his archery roughened hand squeezing the air from her lungs.

She felt them leave the ground as Eros flapped his mighty wings. They soared higher and higher above the barren crust of the Underworld, into its arid air. She was gasping for breath by the time he stopped his ascent.

“Clint, please,” she choked out around his grip. She made to slash at his wrist with her knife but he caught her wrist in his free hand. His eyes were too blue, too ice cold and empty. “Let me go,” she begged.

A wicked, twisted grin came to his face. It was vile and wrong on his kind features. “As you wish,” he stated mechanically.

And suddenly she was falling. The ground was coming up quickly, bringing certain agony with it. She was expecting the impact from below, for the inevitable collision hurtling towards her. What she got instead was a sharp stabbing pain in her shoulder and a harsh jerk upwards that made the fresh wound pure torture. She saw the arrowhead sticking through her and the rope attached, leading to Clint’s hands.

She heard the God of Death laughing next to her and he tapped her lightly on the arm, getting her to twirl in the air above the ground her feet just could not reach. “Do you see your String now, goddess?”

She looked on in horror as her brilliant red String began to harden into cold silver, the ink sliding along it to her chest and cooling rapidly.

“Feel that ice creeping through your blood, Natasha.” He leaned in, taking her face in his hand. “It’s only going to get colder.”

She pulled away for his grip sharply, ignoring the pain as she turned her head upwards to Eros. “Hear me, Clint. You must fight him. You must shake his lies out of your head.”

“There’s no use in-”

But his words were cut off by Nat’s feet nearing the ground an inch. She kept her eyes on her Love. “Clint, Eros, hear me. Listen to my voice and renounce his.”

“Tasha?” he whispered, voice fragile in the barren world.

The God of Death snarled, taking Nat’s face in his hand once more. “You will cease this at once!”

Natasha shook her head and shoved her pain into the back of her mind. She swung a fist and knocked the God of Death aside. “Eros! Come back to me.”

Her feet hit the dirt. Dust blew around her as Clint descended, eyes holding the pain of the war in his head.

“Kill her!”

“No, Eros, please. Just listen.” She stepped towards him, hands out and covered in Ichor – her own and his. She touched his arm. “It’s me.”

“Tash.”

She saw red returning to their String; his eyes were clear. She felt her heart leap until the next moment when it stopped as the arrow from her shoulder was ripped out by the Death God and sent through the heart of her Love.

Clint’s blue grey eyes grew wide as he looked down and saw the golden Ichor turn to crimson. “No!” she screamed.

His legs gave out; his body went limp, boneless.

She fell to her knees, rolling his body over from the dirt into her lap. He was fading, red flowing from his chest, mingling with their fading String and overtaking its vibrant hue.

“Eros, no.” She cradled his head, running her fingers through his hair. “Stay with me.”

“He cannot,” the Death God taunted. “For that was his own arrow and to be pricked by it is his Cardinal Sin.”

“Eros, please.”

“He is gone, dear goddess. You have lost.”

“Eros, Clint, please stay with me. Darling, please. Please.”

“Ta…sha,” he labored, his bloodied hand coming to touch her face.

“I’m here. I’m right here. Oh Eros, I…”

He touched her cheek, leaving warm, sticky blood in its wake. She clutched it in her own, keeping his palm there. “Eros, I love you.”

He tried to smile at her but he was too far gone.

She felt tears stinging her eyes as she continued to plead for him to stay. His eyes fluttered closed and he went still in her arms.

She wept, wailing his name into the emptiness of the Underworld.

And when she opened her eyes her Sight had returned and she could see the phantoms of the realm gathered around her, could see the black flapping loose fabric of her severed String.

She felt rage boil inside her as she turned to face the God of Death. “You monster!” she spat. She raised her hand and slapped him across the face. “Were your String not Poisoned already, I would not hesitate to turn it blacker than your damned soul!”

She went to strike him again but he caught her wrist, gripping it until the bones underneath ground together. “Leave now, goddess. Your punishment is done.”

She bared her teeth and sent her knee straight to his gut. She pulled his long black hair so that he was forced to face her. “I’m taking Persephone away from you.” She tossed him away by his scalp. “One Love for the other.”

She strode away before he could stop her, following the blackened String that signified his Poisoned Love. She found the young goddess locked in her chambers. “Come,” she ordered. “You are free of him now.”

And as she left with the young goddess by her side she knew she would never again step foot into the realm of the Underworld.

 

Her Garden was dim. The Twins were mourning the loss of Eros with her and as a result the Sun had not shone as brightly for days. The colors of the Flowers were painful to look at, so weak and pale like Clint’s skin as he’d faded. She knelt down before one of the beds and began her work of nourishing the Flowers. But after just one she felt exhausted. She curled up on the ground, tucking her knees up to her chest like a child.

Her heart ached, felt made of stone. It pained her so that she longed for the emptiness that consumed her before Eros. Nothingness would have been a sweet relief to the agony she felt at the loss of him.

Her tears watered the Flowers nearby, causing them to curl up their petals and droop, heads bowed in consolidation for her sadness.

Eros was gone.

She had lost her Love.

 

…

 

“Daughter Goddess.”

“Yes, Overwatcher?” She dipped her dirty hands into the pool to clean them. The Flowers had been returning slowly to their proper health. The approach of the Summer Solstice had them perking up a little faster.

“I have heard your pleas. Your weeping has not fallen on deafened ears, I assure you.”

She bowed her head. “I do apologize for my persistence. You can understand, yes?”

The Overwatcher hummed in agreement. “I am sympathetic to your plight, dear one; however, rules are rules. And Cardinal Sins that have been broken cannot be ignored.”

Natasha sank to her knees, pretending to busy herself with weeding a Flowerbed. For the past cycle of the Solstices she had prayed to the Overwatcher to bring back her Love. She’d offered up her Sight in exchange, had pleaded, begged, wept. She dutifully kept her Garden nourished as a show of good will, as a sign of hard work to be rewarded with her request. But now it seemed to have all been in vain.

“The God of Death has been rightly punished. I have struck out his contracts on both Persephone and the Golden Hero.”

Natasha nodded. At least James would be reunited with his lover and the Nature Goddess’s daughter wouldn’t have to leave to live with that vile snake. It was good news, yes. But she didn’t have the strength to celebrate it.

“I suppose that is just,” she said, continuing her weeding.

The Overwatcher hummed deeply. “I have been asked by the Nature Goddess every night for a full cycle to bless you, daughter goddess.”

She looked up, curious.

“I believe it, as does she, that it would only be truly just if you were rewarded for returning Persephone to her.”

Natasha’s mouth dropped open. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. “Overwatcher, I-”

“Be still, dear one. I cannot give you what you are about to ask for.”

She bowed her head.

“But, I can offer this: that I raise up Eros from the Underworld and let him live out his days as a mortal on Earth Below. He would not be allowed on the Mount save the occasions of the Feast of the Solstice, but his godliness would be returned to him at the next move Westward.”

Nat closed her eyes as a smile touched her lips. This was a gift and a gracious one at that. For a full cycle she had prayed and to hear that the Nature Goddess had been likewise beseeching the Overwatcher made her heart swell. She would see Clint again. If only on the World Below and twice a cycle on the Mount for as long as he lived. But it was a gracious gift indeed.

“Overwatcher, I accept this proposal.”

She felt the Overwatcher smile. “Keep the Garden flourishing, dear one.”

She looked around and saw the Flowers stretching high towards the heavens.

Their colors had never been bolder.


End file.
